100 Words Challenge, Honey and Clover Style
by Julia in Reverse
Summary: 100 drabbles focused around Ayu. There will be some AyuXMayama, but it will be mostly one-sided, and probably not occur TOO often.
1. Fingers

Ah, and last but not least, my final 100 Word Challenge! Woohoo! Like the Harry Potter, this typically won't be in chronological order. This is my first attempt at a Honey and Clover fic, so please excuse any OOCness that happens. OTL

Prompt One: Fingers

Welcome Home

I look from my hands to the pottery wheel and back again several times. Then I glance around the room again. It's been weeks, months since I've been here. I'd almost forgotten what it looked like.

On the shelf over by the window, I see some of the pieces I did back when I could produce something _good_, before everything I made was horrible. That's why I threw myself into working at the shop full time. I couldn't handle coming back here after I lost inspiration.

I don't know why it happened; it just did. Slowly, my passion dwindled. But it wasn't just in pottery, though, it was everything. I was in this state of perpetual apathy, except for when I got angry with myself for making something I thought worthless. I don't want to blame him for it, it's not fair. But when I gave up on Mayama, I gave up on everything, and when I gave up, my fingers became weapons of destruction instead of tools of creation. I wanted to cut my hands off, so that no more clay would suffer from their touch.

Hagu watched me go from beating myself up and screaming to crying to nothing, all within hours of each other. I knew it worried her, but I couldn't stop, not until I could produce something good again. But every time I tried, I failed. Once I even tried to break my fingers, I was so upset. She eventually made me stop and think for a bit, and suggested I take a break from art for a while. I didn't want to, but I couldn't stand hating myself constantly, so I did, and never wanted to set foot here again.

Three months went by, and I began to feel human again, more like my old self. I wasn't completely back yet, but I was close. There, instead of molding clay, my fingers worked a cash register, and stacked bottles of alcohol. They were once again useful to me. And then he stopped by the shop.

It was a shock to see him there; it'd been pretty much since I quit pottery since I'd seen Mayama, and for him to just suddenly show up threw me off guard. We talked for a while, and when he left, I felt…okay. My feelings were still present, that was for sure, but I didn't want to die at the sight of him anymore. It gave me hope.

So, today, I came up to the school, and now I'm standing here in the pottery room, staring at the wheel like it's something I've never seen before. I'm scared. I don't want to mess up, and hate myself again. I don't think I'll be able to handle it. But I want to try.

Taking a deep breath, I slip out of my coat, and tie my hair up. I put on an apron and sit down, before sinking my fingers into the cool, squishy clay. The feel of it makes me smile; it's like a welcome from an old friend, and it my qualms melt away.

I switch on the wheel, and settle back so that my fingers can work their magic.


	2. Bad

Prompt Two: Bad

Something to be Proud of

"No, no, no!" I scream, throwing the pot against the wall. The clay shatters on impact, and falls in a hundred pieces to the concrete floor, which breaks a couple of them even more. Why do I even bother? Everything I make now is just…so…bad.  
I sink to the floor and sob, hugging myself into a little ball. Only a few months ago, I was able to produce pieces that I was proud of, that I wanted people to see. And now, it's all horribly bad. The clay is cracked, the glaze was incomplete, the kiln was too high or too low, everything about these pieces I make is vile. I can't take much more of this.

It takes a while to compose myself, but I eventually manage it. Getting to my feet, I go over to the remains of the pot and begin to gather the pieces together with my hands. It doesn't even occur to me to use a broom.

I'm not paying that much attention, like my body's been set on autopilot, so I'm not exactly being careful, either. This becomes abundantly evident when I feel a sharp stinging pain in my left hand as the sharp edge of a large shard slices through the length of my palm. I drop the piece immediately, as a reflex, and it comes away bloody. Trying not to cry again, I leave the pottery room and head for the nurse.

On the way, I see Shû- sensei walking towards me, going in the opposite direction. I hope he doesn't notice me; I don't know how I'll be able to handle people right now.

But, he spots me, soon after I see him, and, smiling, he jogs over. "Ayu!" he calls happily.

All I can do is nod.

As he gets closer, he sees my expression, and his grin falls. "What's the matter?" he asks, concerned. Then he notices my hand. "Oh, shit. How did that happen?"

It's not a really serious cut. It looks a lot worse than it is, because it's huge, but it isn't deep. It stings a lot, but I'd rather have the physical pain than deal with the emotional one right now.

I shrug. "I cut myself."

He frowns. "Obviously. Here, come on, we need to get it washed out."

"I was going to the nurse," I protest.

"She's going to say the same thing, so we might as well save her the step," he insists, before leading me to his office.

"Now," he says, preparing a cloth to clean my hand, "do you want to tell me what's going on?"

No, I don't. But for some reason, I do anyway.

"I can't do it anymore, Sensei. I can't."

"Can't do what?" he asks, kindly, crouching down so that he can start washing my cut.

I flinch back from the sting, but try not to pull away. "I can't do art anymore. It's bad. Everything I do is just terrible. It's like the ability has left me."

Shû-sensei shakes his head, thinking about what I said. "What do you mean, it's bad?"

"Just what I say. It's _horrible_. Nothing I do now I can even stand to look at. I don't know what I'm going to do."

"Every artist goes through this type of slump," he says. "Don't worry, your mojo will come back soon."

I shake my head. "This is different. You should see how bad it is."

His mouth quirks up a bit in one corner, as if he's fighting a smile. "Here's what I think; take a break. Don't quit, but take a break from pottery for a while. You'll feel better, and produce better pieces once you're well-rested."

Ha, yeah right. Take a break. I'm going to keep working my ass off until something decent comes from these hands. "Maybe I will."

He smiles for real, and wraps a clean towel around my hand. But then it slowly fades. "Ayu," he says. "You didn't do this to your hand on purpose, did you?"

What? I shake my head. "No, Sensei. I threw a pot, and cut myself picking up the pieces."

He nods thoughtfully. "Well, like I said, I think you need a break. Go ahead and see the nurse now."

I nod. "Thanks, Sensei," I say, despite knowing that I will never, ever take a break. I'll work my way through this, and, eventually, if I don't kill myself first, I'll produce a piece to be proud of.


	3. Intelligence

Holy crap. I didn't realize this one was this short! Sorry! I'll try and keep them longer, but there are no promises. It all depends on the prompt. OTL

Prompt Three: Intelligence

I'm Intelligent?

I've always been considered the intelligent child, the one with a good head on my shoulders. My brother, though I love him to death, is, let's face it, ridiculous. It's always been me that's got a plan of action, that can take a situation and turn it around. Even when I decided to go to art school, my parents knew I'd be perfectly fine, for how could someone as ingenious as myself get into any serious trouble? I can handle money, I can take care of myself, I can do whatever I set my mind to and do it well.

But tell me, how can I be so intelligent if I let myself be stupid enough to fall in love with some one who will never love me back? How much ingenuity can I have if I can't get myself out of the seemingly simplest predicament of all? Mayama, you've made me a fool.


	4. Announce

Prompt Four: Announce

Flee When Faced With Uncomfortable Announcements 

How do you tell someone that their piece is bad? Do you just announce it to them, or do you explain, as gently as you can that you aren't a fan of it? I didn't realize it would be this hard.

I don't exactly know how I got into this mess in the first place, with this perky, zealous freshman standing in front of me, holding out his piece for my critique. How did this happen?

Ever since I've gotten off of my creative withdrawal, I've been spending massive amounts of time in the pottery room on campus, trying to make up for the months I lost while in my slump. Sometimes there are others here too, people still attending the school doing extra work for class, or working on graduation pieces or what not. Mostly they leave me to my work, and I leave me to theirs, but sometimes we do engage in conversation. There are regulars who come in, and after a while we've become acquaintances.

Today, there was someone new who came in to work. He looked very young, so I knew immediately it was his first year here. He started chatting animatedly to anyone who would listen, and several of the others rolled their eyes at me in annoyance. I knew the feeling; this kid seemed nice and all, but he was rather irritating.

Before long, several of the other students began to gather their things and leave. This guy was just too much to handle. I stayed, because I knew I'd be able to tune him out. As it turns out, that wasn't such a good idea.

When the others were gone, he decided he'd come try and make friends.

"Hi," he chirped, sitting beside me.

"Hello," I said, not looking up from my work.

"Wow, you're amazing!" he said, watching me form the clay.

"Uhm, thank you," I said with an uncomfortable, self-depreciating laugh.

"You really are! I've never seen anyone shape clay this good! And you're a student here?"

I shook my head. "Not anymore. I graduated recently, but I'm still welcome to use the equipment, seeing as I have none of my own."

"That's awesome!" he said.

By this time, I was beginning to wish he'd just go away. Even Morita wasn't this annoying.

"Hey, would you give me your opinion on the piece I just finished?" he said suddenly.

"What!?" I said, straightening in surprise. "No, I couldn't. I'm not -,"

"Oh, come on! You're great, and it would really mean a lot to me if someone with real talent told me what they thought."

Oh-ho, that boy knew how to lay on the flattery. I sighed, somehow knowing I'd regret it. "Okay, fine. Let me see it."

He beamed, and ran over to where his pot was cooling by the kiln. I watched as he picked it up and brought it over for me to inspect, and I fought a grimace.

There's no real way to describe how it looks when a pot is shaped badly. You'd have to see it. And there's no way to explain how it's bad. It just is.

I stare at this thing, trying to bite back what I'm thinking, lest it burst out of my mouth. Would announcing it's awfulness be better, or should I be as nice as I can about it?

"Well?" he asks. "What do you think?"

What do I do? What do I say? "Well, uh, you're…technique could use some work," I say slowly in an attempt to soften the blow.

Nevertheless, his face falls. "You don't like it?"

"I, uh, well," I say, trying to stall and decide the best course of action. Finally, I give up. "No, not really. I'm sorry, but it's not that good."

"Oh. I see." God, it's like I've kicked a puppy.

"Well, look at it this way," I say, trying to cheer him up. "Not everyone is just naturally fantastic. I was that bad when I first started out too. I had to work really hard to get this good."

That brings a bit of hope back to his face. "Really?"

I nod, even if it's not true. Yes, I had to work hard to get good at pottery, but I was never _that_ bad.

"Well then I'll keep trying!" he cries, determination etched onto his features. "Thanks!"

I nod again weakly and watch him leave. Note to self: flee when asked to make uncomfortable announcements on the spot.


	5. Day

Prompt Five: Day

Carpe Diem 

I love the day time. I love the distraction it brings from my thoughts. There's too much time to dwell on unpleasant things at night. Day time keeps you busy.

Routine is everything. Wake up, grab coffee, go to work, work on my pottery, spend time with my friends, go home, eat, watch television, sleep, repeat. It's comforting and it keeps my mind working. I don't have time to think about him.

I like that day is also versatile. You never know what's going to happen; will it rain, will it be sunny, cloudy, cold, warm, windy? Possibility is wonderful. And there's always the option to break away from the routine, and do something new. Like, should I go to the fair? Maybe I should take a trip. I wonder if Hagu's busy today; maybe we should hang out.

Night time is cold and unfriendly. It's always the same, and it's always impersonal. You can do anything with the day, it's yours to make your own, but the night will inevitably end up the same, no matter how you try and change it. The night is never yours; it's never mine. Night will always belong to him.

Day is my rescuer.


End file.
